Five times
by atasteofarmageddon
Summary: ... someone noticed John's dog tags around Sherlock's neck, and one time John saw them. Just a stupid excuse to write a Johnlock hug. Pre-relationship, I suppose, but there are definitely butterflies in both their stomachs.
1. Anderson

**A/N: I am so incredibly in love with the idea of Sherlock wearing John's dog tags. Just... IT'S SO CUTE AND UGH HUSBANDS. So yes. This kind of had to be written. Enjoy!**

-o-

If it hadn't been so blatantly pointed out to him, John probably wouldn't have noticed. He didn't possess the observant mind of his best friend so it didn't bother him that he wasn't the one to see it first. What bothered him was that of all the people who could have pointed it out, it just had to be _Anderson_.

They had been at a crime scene, as usual. The victim was an elderly male with curious burn marks around his wrists and ankles, and Sherlock had been in the middle of a rant when the forensics scientist made his presence known by scrunching up his face and saying:

"Are you wearing a _necklace_?"

John's eyes turned towards Sherlock; he fully expected the other man to fire off a line of snapping retorts and as many insults as he could think of that included the word "idiot", so he was surprised, to say the least, to see Sherlock caught completely off guard by Anderson's question.

"The last time I checked your job was to look at dead bodies", he snapped at last. "Why you would choose to look at me is beyond me."

His reply probably sounded fierce to the rest of the Yard, but John recognized the reserved tone in Sherlock's voice. Distant, like he could have come up with a much better insult but was too distracted.

"Are you actually wearing a necklace?" John asked when they were in the safety of their cab just a few minutes later. Sherlock simply sighed.

"A man has been murdered and the talk of the day is wether I'm wearing a piece of jewellery or not. Sometimes I wish my mind was as easily distracted as yours."

"Sherlock."

"His collarbones."

"What?"

"The victim, John, the victim. It was all about his collarbones."

And just like that the brilliant mind was on a different track altogether. John chose not to acknowledge that he missed the detective's pale eyes on him that evening.


	2. Mycroft

A few weeks after Anderson's observation, John came home to find the British government perched on the living room sofa, umbrella in one elegant hand and Sherlock's violin bow in the other.

"You might want to put that down", said John. "Or Sherlock will throw a fit. Again."

Mycroft Holmes turned his calculating eyes towards him.

"I suppose it's a good thing he's not here then, Doctor Watson."

"He's not in?" John looked down on the hand that held his keys. Both doors had definitely been locked. "Then how did you- You know what, never mind. Tea?"

"Please. Oh, do take those off, they really don't suit you."

John took a step back into the living room from where he had walked into the kitchen.

"I'm sorry?"

"Not you." Mycroft nodded disapprovingly towards the door where Sherlock had just appeared. "Little brother, for goodness sake…"

"I'll wear whatever I want", said the consulting detective petulantly as his hand flew up towards his chest and grabbed something through his shirt.

"You _are_ wearing a necklace!" said John, eyebrows tightly knitted together as he recalled their conversation in the cab. Mycroft turned towards John with a confused look, and when realization dawned on his face he turned back to his brother.

"Ah. I see. Stealing things now, are we?"

Sherlock's lips pressed together in a tight smile.

"Would you like some _cake_ with your tea, Mycroft?"

The posh Englishman left promptly and Sherlock refused to speak for twenty-four hours. John didn't like the absence of his voice.


	3. Molly

**A/N: Guys. _Guys_. I am blown away by the number of follows and favourites I have recieved. Just... _guy_s.**

Just a small message to Catrina Marlow who left a lovely review on the latest installment: When I wrote "the door where Sherlock had just appeared", I meant the front door, as in he came into the flat just after John. I actually though about adding that Sherlock removed his coat or something, just to make it clear that he had been out, but I totally forgot! Thank you for pointing it out, and I am sorry if it caused any confusion :]  


-o-

"I'd say she's in her early twenties, in fairly good shape. Athletic. Like the other two." John gently took hold of the dead woman's arm and moved it experimentally. "Broke her arm when she was a kid, wouldn't you say, Molly?" At the lack of response he looked up towards the pathologist only to find her attention elsewhere.

"Um, Sherlock?" she said in a small voice.

"Hm?"

"You- I mean-"

She made a fleeting gesture towards his chest. He looked down and swiftly tucked the pendant back under his shirt where it had slipped out when he bent down to examine the woman's feet. John didn't even catch a glimpse of it.

"Why-"

"Don't talk, Molly."

Molly turned her grey eyes back to John.

"Why is he wearing that?" she whispered. "Did you give it to him?"

"I don't- Sherlock, why _are_ you wearing that?"

"Definitely poisoned."

John sighed.

"Are you just going to avoid this subject every time it comes up?"

"What subject?" said Sherlock and started tapping away on his phone.

"Your sudden fondness for that necklace, whatever it is. And don't tell me you're not wearing a necklace, I can see the chain, Sherlock."

"How did it get into her system, John?"

John realized it was a lost cause.

"I suppose it's not her cat's claws this time either?"

"What, no, don't be an idiot."

"To be honest I'd rather talk about that necklace of yours."

"Come on, you said it yourself. She was athletic, found in a tracksuit even. The others were in equal shape. These aren't murders."

"They're not?" said Molly and shuffled to fetch Sherlock's coat as he gestured towards the chair where he'd put it, still furiously tapping on his phone.

"Of course not. They're unfortunate accidents."

The detective held out his phone for John to see.

"Protein shakes?"

"Protein shakes. Thanks, Molly", he added as he put on his coat. "This company, Maestri, just started providing protein powder of, shall we say questionable quality. It's not deliberate, death just happens to be a side effect they didn't expect. Come on, John. We're paying Mr Maestri a visit."

John decided to ignore the soft clink when his best friend put his phone back in his inner pocket. The thought of him being given something as intimate as a necklace, not to mention him actually wearing it, made something hurt inside the ex-army doctor's chest.


	4. Mrs Hudson

The pale figure on the sofa took a deep breath and slapped another nicotine patch onto his arm.

"Isn't that dangerous?" said Mrs Hudson in a low voice. John smiled a little and looked at the cards in his hand. He was losing this round too; his landlady was better at card games than he had expected.

"You kind of start believing in miracles when you've lived with him for a while. He hasn't died yet."

Mrs Hudson giggled, but soon turned serious again.

"John, I've been meaning to ask…" She put her hand pointedly over her chest. "The chain he started wearing a couple of months ago."

John shrugged.

"No idea. He won't talk about it; I haven't been able to figure out what it is. More tea?"

"Yes, please. Thank you, dear." She snuck another look into the living room. "You know, I came up here the other day when you were at the clinic, and he wasn't wearing a shirt under his robe. I caught a glimpse of it. I thought it might have been…" She hesitated. "But it's silly."

"This is Sherlock Holmes we're talking about", said John and tried not to think about how his body tingled slightly at the thought of his flatmate shirtless under his purple robe. "I'm used to silly."

"Well." The elderly woman lowered her voice conspiratorially. "It looked like a pair of those metal tags people wear. You know, army people."

John looked surprised.

"Identification tags, yeah. But why would Sherlock wear a pair of those?"

"Haven't the faintest. I had a friend who used to carry her husband's old tags around, so I assumed… Oh, never mind."

John was just about to demand she tell him what she meant, when Sherlock's loud voice rung out throughout the flat.

"John! Lestrade texted! Case!"


	5. Moriarty

**A/N: Throwing in some kidnapping and kinda sorta torture if you squint. You know, normal stuff. **

-o-

"_It's funny, Johnny boy, how I keep telling you and your precious detective not to mess around in my business… and you ignore it every time._"

"I swear", said John and wiped the sweat off his face", I swear, when I find you I will _kill_ you. I will break every single bone in your-"

A hand landed on his arm.

"Calm down", whispered Lestrade. "Just find out if Sherlock's okay, keep him talking."

John took a deep breath and pressed the phone harder to his ear.

"Is he alive? Just tell me-"

"_He's perfectly alive_", came the drawl that was Jim Moriarty's voice, dripping with joy over the pain he was causing. "_Asleep, my dear doctor, but alive. For_ _now_._ I'm surprised you let him walk around all by himself- but what's this?_"

The unmistakable sound of a piece of clothing being ripped to shreds made John shiver all over.

"_Oh!_" The absolute delight in the criminal mastermind's voice was the most unsettling thing John had heard in a very long time. "_But why didn't you tell me? I would have arranged an engagement party!_"

"Look", said John. "I don't know what you're talking about, but you better put an end to this little game right now."

There was a pregnant pause, and for a moment John was sure the line had gone dead. But then he heard it. The faint sound of two metal pieces clinking together. Something cold settled in the pit of his stomach; he may dislike Sherlock's recent fondness for the necklace, but he knew it meant much to the other man, and he couldn't stand the thought of Moriarty even touching it.

"_Do you know who should stop playing games?_" said Moriarty, no longer playful. "_Sherlock Holmes. He is so careful to point out how he doesn't have feelings… but he does, doesn't he?_" The clinking sound grew louder. "_Sherlock Holmes has a weakness. And I know who it is!_" The last words were said in a sing-song voice.

"John", said Lestrade from the other side of the room where a bunch of computers and surveillance technology was set up. "We know where the call is coming from."

"_That's my cue!_" came the once again playful voice through the speakers on the phone. "_I really do have to be off. But before I leave your boy all alone for you to find him… I will do you a favour, Doctor Watson._"

The delicate, jingling sound stopped. There was another pause, and then the sound of what John just knew was metal hitting skin.

"_I will slap some sense into him._"

_Click_.


	6. John

"Will you lie down?"

"No."

"Will you eat?"

"No."

"Will you at least_ look at me?_"

The tall, slender man stilled in his movements. The bow made a slow journey over the strings of his violin, eliciting a drawn out note.

"I am looking at you, John. Don't be ridiculous."

John was close to ripping out chunks of his hair he was so frustrated. Sherlock had been home from his kidnapping ("_Confrontation_. I would never let myself get _kidnapped_") for two days and had barely had a full meal since then, let alone slept. The thing that annoyed John the most, though, was that he wouldn't look him in the eye.

"Just- Please, Sherlock. I know you don't want to talk about it, but those marks on your body-"

"They don't hurt."

"You're lying. But that's not what I was going to say." John stood up and moved over to his best friend, who was looking out the window. "He hurt you with that necklace you're wearing. The tags or whatever they are." After a few seconds of hesitation he put his hand on his friend's shoulder, finding comfort in his warmth. "I know you don't like talking about them and I won't make you explain why you're suddenly wearing them. Just- let me know if you need anything."

Sherlock's stoic features looked like they had been frozen on his face. John squeezed his shoulder before letting go. He had almost made it to the kitchen when Sherlock said:

"John. Come here."

John sighed and returned to his place next to the detective, who slowly put down his violin. Sherlock raised his hands and grabbed the chain around his neck, lifted it over his head, carefully slipped the tags out of his shirt and then put the necklace in John's hand. John looked down on the tags hanging from the chain, a confused look on his face.

_WATSON_  
_JOHN H_  
_FG123456Z_  
_A POS_

He looked up.

"Sherlock."

Once again the other man avoided his eyes.

"Sherlock. These are mine."

"I know that, John, I've been wearing them for several months."

John almost threw his hands up in the air.

"Why, Sherlock? They were in the box under my bed, did you just take them?"

Sherlock kept his eyes downcast, if John didn't know better he'd think he was embarrassed. But that couldn't be it, could it? Sherlock didn't do things like that, he didn't get embarrassed. The idea that Sherlock had walked around wearing tags with John's name on them made a comfortable warmth settle somewhere very close to his heart, and he had to close his eyes for a few seconds to get used to the thought that this was probably just some behavioural experiment.

"I liked the idea of walking around with a piece of you."

John's eyes flew open.

"What did you say?"

Sherlock's eyes finally met his.

"They mean a lot to you. The thought of having something that's so important to you is appealing to me, but I didn't think you'd like me to have them. So I… borrowed them." That rendered the doctor absolutely speechless. "You don't have to say anything, John. Take them back."

"No, Sherlock, I-" John hadn't even considered this a possibility when he started noticing the chain around his best friend's neck. He had no idea what to say, so he did the first thing he could think of. Very carefully, to make sure that Sherlock could pull away if he wished, he raised himself up on his tiptoes, put his arms around Sherlock's neck, and enveloped the other man in a hug.

"John-"

"Shut up for once."

It took him a few seconds, but soon John could feel Sherlock's arms encircle his waist. He turned his face into the other man's neck and inhaled his scent. It was so very Sherlock.

"Keep them", he said, leaned back and placed the chain around Sherlock's neck.

"Why?"

"Oh for God's sake, don't question it. Just keep them."

The hold on his waist tightened as he put his hands on Sherlock's shoulders.

"I wish I could give you something in return", said the detective.

John thought about it for a moment.

"Have a full meal. At Angelo's. With me. That's all I'm asking."

"Hm. And if I agree to this, will you, when Angelo asks which we both know he will, still claim that it's not a date?"

"I suppose I could just keep quiet and let him come to his own conclusions."

Sherlock actually _chuckled_, and in a moment so ridiculously intimate it almost took the breath out of both of them, he leaned his forhead against John's. John could feel his hot breath on his lips as the detective said:

"Then I guess... it's all fine."

-o-

**A/N: I have an idea for a sequel of sorts, because I want to write more Sherlock-leaves-subtle-hints-that-he's-head-over-heels because we all know he wouldn't actually come out and say it. Also I need to write a kiss. So if you feel like that would be interesting, let me know.**

**Thank you so much for following and favouriting (shh, it's a word) and reviewing and reading, you are all so precious and awesome. I really enjoyed writing this and I hope you'll stick around. **


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